You're about to feel hella sorry for Ellen. Sorry. It couldn't be helped. - atd
Ellen found herself in the lobby of the Urban Oasis Yoga Centre. It was exactly what you would expect: Muted colors, a soothing fountain, pan flute music piped in over the intercom. Lisa Cuddy was nowhere in sight—she must've already disappeared into the locker room.
"I want to, um, take a class?" Ellen said to the receptionist, who was blonde and young and impossibly fit in her skin tight yoga clothing.
"We have two classes starting at noon," the girl said, with a yawn. "Intermediate or advanced?"
Ellen considered Cuddy's perfectly toned figure, the way her stature projected length, even though she was actually rather petite.
"Um, advanced?" Ellen said.
"You can get changed in there," the girl said, jerking her thumb toward the locker room. Then she frowned at Ellen. "Are you going to take a class in that?"
Ellen was wearing her typical flower shop gear: Overalls, clogs, and a peasant shirt.
"This was something of a spur-of-the-moment decision," Ellen admitted. "Do you have any sort of shop?"
"We sell yoga pants and mats and tank tops. What size?"
One hundred and forty dollars later, Ellen was decked out in a pair of slightly too long yoga pants and a purple tank top with a picture of a supplicating woman that read "Namaste" on the front and "Urban Oasis Yoga Centre" on the back.
She scanned the women unraveling their yoga mats. She had guessed right! There was Lisa Cuddy, up front, already sitting in the meditation pose on her mat.
Ellen situated herself in the back, as far away from the teacher as possible. She had taken a few Yoga For Beginners classes at the Y a few years back. She remembered there was lots of breathing and some simple stretching poses. How hard could it be?
An hour later, exhausted, in pain—and having watched the other women expertly twist their bodies like pretzels, seemingly defying all laws of physics—she had to laugh at her naiveté. Advanced yoga was, well, advanced. Of course, Lisa Cuddy nailed all the poses. The teacher even used her a couple of times as an example of proper form.
After the class, drenched in sweat, and slightly embarrassed by her obvious inadequacy, Ellen skulked into the locker room.
The problem: Her own locker, chosen at random, was nowhere near Cuddy's. How could she possibly strike up a "casual" conversation with her from across the room? She grabbed her overalls, shirt, and shoes out of her locker and surreptitiously stuffed them in a towel. Then, looking around to make sure no one was watching, she placed them in the locker next to Cuddy's. (She was sure someone was going to stop her: "What the hell are you doing?" or "The clothing goes out of the locker, not in it" but no one seemed to notice or care.)
She took a quick shower and came out. Cuddy was already beginning to get dressed. Ellen looked at her lean and strong body for a moment and was suddenly self conscious about her own flat chest, her nonexistent ass, her complete lack of muscle tone
"That was a lot harder than I thought it would be," she said to Cuddy, with a sheepish smile.
"I thought you were new," Cuddy said, smiling back at her in a friendly way. "You have bad timing. Donna"—the teacher—"is a beast."
"But you did all the poses perfectly!"
"Hardly," Cuddy said. "You must've missed the part where I almost toppled over twice."
"I guess so. . ." Ellen said. "The advanced classes where I used to live weren't quite this hard."
"Are you new to the city?" Cuddy said.
"Yeah, I'm from Minnesota," she said. "I just moved here last month. Still trying to get the lay of the land." (She had once heard that the best way to lie was to minimize the amount of fake details you told. It was true. She was from Minnesota. However, she had moved to New Jersey, not New York. And it was six years ago.)
"I'm Lisa Cuddy."
"I'm . . .Ella."
They shook hands. Ellen was struck by Lisa's eyes—a greyish version of Greg's mesmerizing blues—and her megawatt smile, the kind of smile that people tended to describe as "lighting up a room."
"How do you like New York so far?" Cuddy said.
"I like it. I'm a little overwhelmed I guess."
"It can be a little intimidating," Cuddy said.
Ellen couldn't imagine anything intimidating this woman.
"I still haven't found my places yet, ya know?" Ellen said. "My bar. My gym. My coffee house."
Cuddy had zipped up her pencil skirt and was about to put on her Louboutins.
She eyed her. "There's actually a really great coffee shop right around the corner from here" she said.
"Oh yeah?" Ellen said hopefully.
"I haven't had lunch yet," Cuddy said, wrinkling her nose skeptically. "You wanna join me?"
Were beautiful, confident people like her actually modest, Ellen wondered? Or was adopting false modesty just another one of their many people-pleasing qualities?
"I would love to!" she said.
#####
The coffee house was perfect. Exposed brick. Large, butcher block tables, heavy coffee mugs and kitschy mismatched cloth napkins.
Cuddy ordered a bowl of tomato soup and an herbal tea.
Ellen got a powerhouse sandwich and a latte.
They did the small talk thing, until Ellen felt comfortable enough to dig a little deeper.
"Do you have a boyfriend?" she said.
Cuddy laughed a bit.
"That would be a no," she said.
"I'm surprised. I mean, you're so. . .beautiful."
"You're sweet," Cuddy said. "I'm extremely busy. And I have a six year old. And I have notoriously bad luck with men."
"So you've never been married?"
"No. . .I was engaged once. For about 24 hours."
"What happened?"
"I broke up with the man I was engaged to so that I could be with the man I loved," Cuddy said, ironically.
"Wait. What?" Ellen laughed.
"I know. It's crazy. It's a long story. You probably don't want to hear it."
"Actually, I'd love to."
Cuddy stared into her mug of tea.
"I don't usually talk about this, but I think I'm in a particularly reflective mood because I recently saw him for the first time in four years."
Bingo.
"The ex fiancée. Or the guy you loved?"
"The guy I loved. We were together for a year. Well, together-together. We'd actually been each other's significant other for a lot longer than that, if I'm going to be perfectly honest. Anyway, it ended badly. Very badly."
"How badly?"
"'Reckless endangerment with a vehicle' badly," Cuddy said.
"Wow. So how did you come to see him again?"
"I invited him to my therapy session. Today was actually our second session together."
"Like, couples therapy?" Ellen said, with dread.
"No, nothing like that. I'm having a hard time moving on. His behavior disrupted my life. I've had a lot of issues with resentment."
"I can imagine," Ellen said.
"He went to jail for what he did. But he's been out for two years and he seems to be doing better than me. At least that's what I thought."
"He's not?"
Cuddy looked up, almost surprised that she was revealing so much to a complete stranger.
"Are you sure you want to hear all of this?"
"Are you kidding? This is the most interesting story I've heard in months!"
"I'm not usually so . . . chatty," Cuddy said, almost embarrassed. "Do people always spill their guts to you?"
"Actually, they do," Ellen chuckled. "I must have a trustworthy face."
Cuddy smiled. "I guess that's it. . .Anyway, no, he's as miserable as I am."
Ellen felt her face grow red.
"Miserable?"
"Well, he's sober. Which is very good. And he has a girlfriend. He's fond of her, I guess, but not in love with her."
"He said that?"
"Yeah."
"And you believe him"
"Yes. The truth his, he never fell out of love with me. His problem was loving me too much. His was a crime of passion."
"So this new woman? You think she means . . .nothing to him?"
"I think he's grateful to have her in his life. She's good to him. She helps keep him sober. She's a companion."
"A companion. . ." Ellen said.
"House—that's his name—is a misanthrope. If he can find anyone that he even tolerates that's a pretty rare thing. She's kind of a godsend, I guess."
"You sound like you want him to be happy."
Cuddy nodded pensively.
"I thought I didn't. But I was wrong." The she gave a small laugh. "I'm actually beginning to wonder if, on some subconscious level, the whole reason I set up the therapy session was to see him again."
Ellen's eyes widened.
"So you still have feelings for him?"
"Feelings. Yes. Excellent word. Every feeling in the book. Love. Hate. Lust. Empathy. Anger. Protectiveness."
Lust.
"But he tried to hurt you!" she protested.
"Deep down, I know he didn't. He was reckless and stupid—and high as a kite, mind you. But not violent. He would never hurt me. Not intentionally."
"So you . . .think you might see him again?"
Cuddy smiled.
"I honestly don't know," she said. "When I broke up with him, I thought I was just closing one chapter in our story. Never in a million years did I think I was shutting the whole book."
"Maybe some books are meant to stay shut," Ellen said.
"Or maybe they were slightly cracked open the whole time."
########
When House got home that night, Ellen was sitting on the couch, in footie pajamas, watching TV.
"Whatchya watching?" he said, kissing the top of her head. He was in a good mood. She had heard him whistling as he made his way down the hallway.
"Shhh," she said. "I'm trying to listen."
He was too cheerful—or perhaps indifferent?—to notice her coldness.
He limped over to the fridge.
"Any leftovers?" he said, swinging the door open. "Yikes. Unless I want a mustard and pickle sandwich, the prospects are grim."
He walked back over to her.
"Did you eat yet?" he said.
"I had a pizza," she said.
"You ate the whole pizza?" he said.
"I threw the rest out."
"It didn't occur to you that I might want some?"
"I assumed you'd eat at the hospital. I never have any idea where you are anymore. Your entire schedule is a complete mystery to me."
"Oh, that's not melodramatic at all." Then he grinned. "Why not get out of your footie pajamas—sexy as they are—and come with me to Clyde's for a burger."
"I just told you. I already ate."
"So watch me eat. Have a drink."
"Great advice, Greg. Recommend that a former addict join you for a drink!"
"Christ, bite my head off much? I meant a soft drink." He frowned. "What's up with you?"
Ellen sighed. Normally, she would happily go to Clyde's just to sit and watch him eat. Not tonight. I'm not going to be your fucking companion tonight, she thought.
"Sorry," she said. "I'm just tired."
"Okay," he said with a shrug. "Enjoy How I Met Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman, or whatever the hell you're watching. Don't wait up."
#####
The following Tuesday, Ellen asked her manager to mind the flower shop—again—and took the train to the city. She hoped (and suspected, actually) that Lisa Cuddy was a creature of habit and that the noon advanced class at the Urban Oasis Yoga Studio was her regular thing.
Indeed, when Ellen walked into the sunny studio, Cuddy was already there, rolling out her mat. She waved at Ellen when she saw her. Then gestured for her to join her.
"Hey girl!" she said. "I'm proud of you, you came back!"
"I guess I'm a glutton for public humiliation," Ellen said.
Cuddy laughed.
"You'll do great," she said. "And if you can't hold a pose, just pretend to sneeze. It's a very good excuse for losing your balance."
Ellen smiled. Despite everything, she couldn't help but to feel a little giddy in Cuddy's presence. It was like being befriended by the popular girl in high school.
After class—Ellen sneezed twice, resulting in two minor giggle fits between them—Cuddy asked Ellen if she wanted to have lunch.
"I have news," she said, dramatically.
"Lead the way," Ellen said.
They went back to "their" coffee shop.
"You're not going to believe what I did," Cuddy said, after they'd ordered. "I can hardly believe it myself."
"What?" Ellen said.
"I slept with him."
"Who?" More creeping dread.
"House! Who else?"
Ellen had a sudden urge to flee the coffee shop. She wanted to get up from the table and run as far away as possible, to hide from the world. Instead, she said: "I don't understand. How?"
"Oh God, I can tell you're scandalized. I know! I know! In my defense, he has a girlfriend. He's not married."
Ellen's mouth felt like it was filled with cotton. She took a big gulp of her water.
"I'm . . . I'm speechless."
"You think I'm a horrible person. I don't blame you. I think I'm a horrible person."
"No, I just. . .how did it even happen?"
"I don't know, Ella. It's what House and I do. We fall into bed together."
Ellen felt her heart beating in her chest, too loudly, too quickly. She wondered if Cuddy could hear it. Just breathe, she reminded herself.
"Tell me everything," she said.
"Well, I called him, asked if he wanted to have lunch."
"When was this?"
"Friday."
("I'll be assisting on a surgery all afternoon," Greg had told her. "Don't try to call.")
"So of course he said yes," Cuddy continued. "Anyway, we were just talking, catching up. And he kept asking about Rachel—my daughter. It was like he couldn't hear enough about her. Who her friends were. Her favorite toys. What books she was reading. He was insatiable."
"You think he was. . .just trying to score brownie points with you?" Ellen offered.
"Maybe," Cuddy shrugged. "But House isn't really good at sugarcoating things. I've never known him to pretend to be interested in things that he's not."
Ellen had a flash to the time she gave Greg a tour of her flower shop. "It smells good," he had said.
"That's all you can say about my life's work?" she replied, archly, trying to hide her disappointment.
"I dunno," he had shrugged. "I guess I'm just not that into flowers."
"So what happened next?" she said to Cuddy now.
"At some point during our conversation, I became fixated on his hands."
"His hands?"
"Yes. . .his hands. He has the most beautiful hands. With these long tapered fingers—a piano player's hands."
"Gosh. . ."
"So I started thinking about what he used to do to me with those hands. The way he touched me. . .all over."
Cuddy looked up, trying to gauge Ellen's reaction.
"I can stop if you want. I mean, I know it's all incredibly inappropriate." She laughed, guiltily. "I think the fact that I don't know you that well is uninhibiting, somehow."
"No," Ellen said. "I'm interested. Go on."
"So…there I am, staring at his fingers and I'm thinking, 'Oh shit. I want to have sex with him.' So I asked if he wanted to get a hotel room. Shockingly, he did."
"No hesitation?"
"Are you kidding? I've never seen House move so fast. He has a cane. Did I mention that he uses a cane?"
"No."
"Anyway, we got a room at the Ritz and had mind blowing sex for two hours. We've always been great at sex. That's never been our issue—the opposite in fact. It's too good. It distorts things. Endorphins are a powerful thing." She gave a tiny, self-effacing grin. "Of course, he didn't want me to leave," she continued. "He kept begging me to stay. I told him it was never going to happen again. Just an isolated thing we both needed to get out of our systems."
"That makes sense," Ellen said, encouragingly.
"I don't know," Cuddy said. "I'm already starting to fantasize about being with him again. We'll see how long I hold out."
"But …shouldn't I be discouraging this?" Ellen said. "I mean, as your friend?"
"You mean, because he's, like, my abusive ex boyfriend or something?"
"Exactly Lisa. I don't want you to get hurt. If you were in my shoes, you'd say the same thing."
Cuddy nodded.
"You're right. I would. Because it's impossible to understand my relationship with House unless you've lived it. People talk about soulmates. It sounds like romance novel bullshit, I know that. But House is my soulmate. I've never doubted that. Even at the height of my anger."
"Then why did you go four years without seeing him?"
Cuddy looked at her like she had just sprouted two heads.
"Because he drove his car into my house!"
"But what does your therapist say about all of this?"
Cuddy shrugged.
"She doesn't judge. That's not her way. She just wants me to explore my feelings. It's really annoying." She gave a self deprecating laugh and shook her wonderful mane of hair. "Anyway, I've corrupted you and obviously upset you a lot."
Ellen blushed.
"No, you didn't."
"You're a nice Midwestern girl and I'm talking about illicit afternoon sex in hotels in room."
"I'm tougher than I look."
"I believe you. Anyway. . . I've babbled enough. Tell me more about you. I never even asked. Do you have a boyfriend?"
Maybe, she thought.
"Yes," she said. "His name's George. He's a doctor."
"I'm a doctor! Did I tell you that?"
"No, you didn't."
"Well, I'm not practicing medicine anymore. I'm actually an administrator. Boring I know. What field is he in?"
"General practitioner," Ellen lied.
"Very handy to have around the house," Cuddy cracked. "Can set a broken ankle and prescribe antibiotics—or birth control, if you prefer. So tell me about him."
"He's. . .a great guy. Super smart. Uh, tall."
"How long have you been together?"
"Almost a year. We live together."
"Any talk of marriage?"
"Not on his part," Ellen said.
"Men," Cuddy commiserated.
"Yeah, he doesn't believe in marriage."
"And you?"
"Yeah, I do. And I'm divorced. You'd think I'd be the jaded one."
"You never know. House didn't believe in marriage either…until he got married."
Ellen blanched.
"What?"
"Yeah, a marriage of convenience thing. Just to get a rise out of me, actually. He told me that he never intended to go through with it. Right until the 'I do's' he kept expecting me to object—I attended the blessed event, you see. He was playing an elaborate game of Russian roulette—or Ukrainian roulette, in this case. And I called his bluff."
Cuddy shook her head.
"The point is, if Gregory House can get married, maybe your guy will come around, too," she said.
"I don't know," Ellen said. She wanted to add, "You see, he's cheating on me with you." But she kept her mouth shut.
#####
A part of Ellen wanted to confront him right away. But to confront him would be to admit her own wrongdoing—that she had followed him, befriended Cuddy under false pretenses. Besides, she wasn't the confrontational type. It wasn't in her nature.
And she was weak. You don't confront your cheating boyfriend unless you're prepared to make ultimatums. Unless you were prepared to walk. She wasn't. She didn't want to break up with Greg. She'd always known that he loved Cuddy more, wanted her more. Maybe he just needed to get this out of his system, as Cuddy had said.
Still, she'd been stewing all day and, by the time Greg got home, she had worked herself into something of a lather.
"You're late!" she said.
"I know…I got hung up at work. Complicated case."
"Did you at least remember the sparkling cider?" she said to him, noting his empty hands.
"Oh shit, I forgot."
"Of course you forgot!" she barked. "I asked you to do one tiny thing and you can't even do that!"
He looked shocked, and genuinely chastened.
"I'm sorry. I can run to the store and buy some now."
"Forget it," Ellen muttered. "I was going to make us a nice dinner but it's ruined now."
"Because I forgot to buy sparkling cider?"
"Just. . .forget it. There's chicken in the fridge. I'm going to bed."
She moped into the bedroom, slammed the door.
If he follows me, he loves me—at least a little bit.
Much to her relief, a knock at the door.
"Hey," he said, standing in the doorway, his hands shoved in his pockets. "You okay? Did I do something wrong?"
Other than fucking your ex girlfriend? she thought.
"No," she said. "I've just had a lot of stress at work."
"You can have stress at a flower shop?" he cracked.
"My job is hard! I may not be a fancy doctor but I work hard! I have orders to fill, employees to manage."
She had no idea why she was getting so worked up. This obviously wasn't what she was really mad about.
"I know. You're right. I'm sorry. . .I was just kidding. The annoying thing about having a girlfriend who works in a flower shop: I can't buy you flowers to apologize."
She laughed, despite herself.
"Come have chicken with me," he said, cocking his head toward the kitchen.
"Naaa. I'm tired. I'm going to turn in."
He walked over and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek.
He's fond of her, Cuddy had said.
"Sweet dreams," he said, closing the door.
She slept briefly, fitfully. When she woke up, she heard Greg's voice in the other room. He was whispering.
She got out of bed, put her ear to the door.
"I can't stop thinking about you," he was saying.
Ellen sighed. You shouldn't be listening to this, she chided herself. But of course, she couldn't stop.
"I just want to hold you again," he was saying. "I want to taste you, touch you, breathe you in. I want to breathe in your pussy again. I want to be inside you. I need you."
Ellen felt vaguely ill. In their year together he had never talked to her like that. She had never once heard such lust and longing in his voice.
"Then let's uncomplicated it," Greg was saying, in response to something Cuddy said. "We're meant to be together. Being apart from you feels like death."
A silence on his end, as Cuddy presumably spoke.
"Okay," he said finally, sadly. "I understand. But please think about it. Please. I'm begging you."
And he hung up.
Ellen went back to bed—she didn't scramble. She knew that Greg was going to open a window, smoke a cigarette—a newly acquired vice, the only one he had left. Or maybe, worse still, he was going to go the bathroom and masturbate to the thought of Lisa Cuddy. She closed her eyes tightly and tried not to cry.
To be continued. . .
